After the Storm
by shimmeryshine
Summary: His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn't get this version of her out of his system.
1. one

**a/n: **Because Carrie decided to come up with this banging end of the season spec which has absolutely no basis in spoilers or anything, but we want it to happen so badly that it prompted me to write this. So think of this as an imaginary alt season 4 ending/summer between season 4 and 5. Will be six chapters (EEP MULTI CHAP FIC!)

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><p>(one)<p>

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><p>The loud sound of a newspaper smacking down onto Beckett's desk makes Castle flinch, his shoulders slumping into himself as his eyes cautiously make their way up to the scowl darkening his partner's face. She looks <em>livid<em>.

"Beckett?" his voice comes out slightly strangled, mind flicking through any of the multitude of things he could have done wrong since she crawled her way out of his bed at five o'clock that morning. Since all he had done was sleep a little bit more and bring her coffee, he's not sure even he could have messed that up enough for the amount of disdain she's currently channeling in his direction.

She flips the page of the newspaper with one finger, gesturing to a pretty good sized picture on the right page, above the fold. Above the fold on _page six_.

Oh.

It's a picture of the two of them, of course, which is why Beckett's pissed. They're in the park, she's tucked snugly into his side, face turned up into his because they're _kissing_ and man he cannot believe they got busted by the paparazzi and he didn't even notice. Well he can believe it a little, both of their eyes are closed in the picture, the definition of completely wrapped up in each other.

"I'm…sorry?" he starts, pretty sure that groveling isn't going to hurt his cause. He had thought they were being relatively careful, so aware of her aversion to the press.

"_Castle_," she hisses as she sits down in her chair, rolling it dangerously close to him so she can whisper yell in his face. "I thought you said you were having your _people_ keep us out of the press."

"I was!" he whispers back, sliding the newspaper closer with one finger and tracing the line of her face with a soft smile. It really is a good picture of them. "I am. I told Paula that we are absolutely not commenting on it, and she's doing her best to keep it quiet, but Beckett even she can't control what comes out on page six." When he finally looks back up from the page, she's staring at him.

"Do you want me to frame that for you?" she deadpans.

His eyes glance back down to the picture again, smoothing out the creases. "Well, no, it's black and white and this copy is wrinkled…maybe I could get them to give me – " she cuts him off by snatching the paper out from under his hands, "…the original." His voice trails off as he watches her crumple the paper and shove it into the trash, thinking perhaps she was _not _being serious about that question.

Just as he thinks she's about to drop it, leave the crumpled paper in the trash and pretend she never even saw it, Ryan and Esposito come strolling into the precinct, walking right past her desk. She can't see them, but Castle can, and he holds his breath as the devious grins on their faces turn to words.

"Read the paper this morning guys?" Esposito says, voice dripping with barely restrained laughter.

"Real page turner," Ryan chimes in, and then Castle watches as Beckett's eyes slide closed, jaw clenched, right hand crushing the pen she's holding. Ryan must see the look on his face because he scurries off, leaving them alone again.

She opens her eyes to glare at him. "Oh come on," he says, trying to lighten her up. It's not _entirely_ his fault, anyway. "You did let me kiss you in the park."

"I _let_ you kiss me in the park, is that really what you're going with?"

Before he can dig himself out of _that_ hole, Beckett's phone rings and she dismisses him with a flick of her eyes.

He slides the trash can farther under her desk with his foot as she scribbles the address of a crime scene on a sticky note and hangs up.

.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Beckett asks as he tries to slide an arm around her waist as they idle in the shadows of an alleyway waiting for a cab later that night. He pouts at her, withdrawing his hand. It was mostly an accidental gesture, but he doesn't like that he can't touch her in public without her flinching and thinking about who might be watching.

"You don't want to be New York's new reigning queen of the tabloids?" he teases, tugging on her belt loop before shoving his hand into his coat pocket. She is apparently _not_ready to make light of the situation.

"Stop being a jackass or I'm not going to let you touch me at home either."

"Beckett, Beckett, don't make promises you can't keep." She rolls her eyes at him and moves to walk away, but he catches her elbow with three fingers and she stills, looking him in the eye. What she sees there must be enough to give her pause, because she tilts her head, examining him in that way she does.

"Castle?" she asks, all traces of her former annoyance gone from the low timbre of her voice.

"Does it really bother you that much?" he asks in a voice cut with a vulnerability he doesn't usually reveal. "That people know we're dating?" He doesn't drop his fingers from her arm.

Her face goes soft at his question and she steps closer of her own volition. " It's not about people knowing we're dating. I think half of the precinct thinks we've been dating this whole time anyway." He smiles at her attempt to lighten the moment with a joke, usually his turf. Maybe he's rubbing off on her more than he thinks. She runs a hand through her windblown hair, and he can tell she's trying to gather her thoughts.

"Then why does it bother you so much to be on page six?"

"Do you know what it's like being a woman in such a male dominated field? A detective? A g_ood_detective?" She doesn't wait for his response. "It's taken a long time for me to build up respect at my job, to prove myself, and pictures of me kissing you popping up all over the papers does not help me come off as a serious cop. That's why I was upset."

His face falls a little at her explanation. He's glad it's not necessarily an issue with their relationship that has her so irritated, but he never wants to be the one making her life harder. At least not in any way that really counts.

"Castle," she says softly, drawing him in with the tone of her voice. He flicks his eyes from where they were trained on the brick wall behind her to the yielding planes of her face, settling there familiarly. One of her hands moves to rest against his cheek, a gesture that means more because of who could be watching, who she is _aware_ could be watching. She doesn't really have to speak when she's looking at him the way she is, eyes shining at him the way he only ever sees when they're alone. Warmth blooms in his chest as her thumb gently traces his cheekbone, and he watches her mouth as it opens and she begins to speak. "They'll get tired of us eventually, right?" she breathes, trying to sound hopeful and dismissive, for him, he knows.

He quirks his lips at her as he moves forward a little bit, quite sure that if the tabloids had any sense they would put her on the cover of every publication _ever_ because how anyone could not see how completely magnetic she is absolutely boggles his mind. Of course, he wants her all for himself, so he hopes they never do realize what's walking around right under their noses, someone who is making the papers because she's attached to _him _and not the other way around. If he were an insecure man, he might be worried. His eyes drift to her mouth as he feels the fingers still on the inside of his elbow squeeze down a little bit.

"You really want to kiss me right now, don't you?" she says lightly, mouth quirking because she knows he does, and he _really_ does, want to kiss this woman standing in front of him, beautiful and strong and smart and _his_. Or at least as "his" as she would ever allow.

"Can I?"

He watches her eyes flick to the side for only a moment, checking to see if they're alone, he's pretty sure, but then she's back to looking at him and only him and the look on her face seems to project a _fuck it_ kind of vibe which only makes him want to kiss her more and so he does, lurching forward just enough to pull a kiss from those pretty pink lips. It's soft, too soft for her liking, teasing in the way that he tugged it out of her and gave nothing in return and so she uses the grip she still has on him to pull him closer, to kiss him properly, much too thorough for a street corner in the middle of New York City but he's never been one to shy away from public displays of affection, certainly not when they are being pulled from his mouth one intoxicating tug of Kate Beckett's lips at a time. He groans lightly as she sweeps her tongue across his bottom lip like a promise and then pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against his, breathing sharply and humming softly.

Her eyes slide open to look at him, all warm and dark, unfocused and focused on only him at the same time. He loves it when she looks at him like that. Just as he's about to lean back in, capture one last kiss from her still wet lips before their cab arrives, he hears a sharp _thunk_ and then before he realizes what is happening, Beckett's eyes completely lose focus as he feels her go limp in front of him, dropping to the ground. He's dazed, still too caught up in her nearness to process what is happening in real time as his hands shoot out to catch his slumping partner, confusion making his heart thump wildly as he struggles to stay upright with the dead weight of her. The dull thump he heard moments before echoes around in his brain as he tries to swallow his panic, his mind immediately flicking back to a grassy cemetery and the sharp sound of a bullet ripping through the flesh of her chest, her heart. Bile rises up his esophagus at just the thought of her being injured again, and his eyes move from her face to search wildly around the alley in an attempt to gain any kind of understanding at what is happening, but he doesn't have to look far. Standing right behind Beckett is the looming, shadowy shape of a man in a dark sweatshirt, holding the barrel of a gun, the butt of it clearly having just struck the back of his partner's head.

He wants to flinch back, to put himself between Beckett and this man, but he doesn't want to let her go. He opens his mouth to ask _who are you_ but the question dies on his lips as the man steps closer, the light from the street lamp reflecting off his familiar features, a face that has haunted him for more than a year. His grip on Beckett tightens, but it's useless, the man raises the gun again, striking Castle across his temple, sending him reeling against the brick wall at his back and to the ground, hands suddenly empty as he feels the damp gravel of the asphalt against his cheek. His vision gets black around the edges as he struggles to keep conscious, as he watches the man grab Beckett by the arms, hoist her up and across the sidewalk to a waiting car, away from him. The man's face is the last thing he sees as he finally slips into the blackness, panic clawing at his stomach so sharply he feels like he would vomit if he could control any of his muscles.

That face, Jerry Tyson.

The triple killer. 3xk.

And he has Beckett.


	2. two

She wakes tied to a chair, hands and feet bound with duct tape to the arms and legs, head fuzzy and pounding. If she could move her hand to the mess of knotted hair at the back of her head, she's sure she would find a sizeable bump, the reason she's here in this chair and not wherever it is she was last. As she blinks her eyes, she remembers an alley and Castle and something about the newspaper, thinks she can vaguely taste him in her mouth, but everything else is too hazy to remember. The chair creaks as she tries to test how tightly she is bound (too tightly for any kind of escape), scraping a little against the floor at her insistent tugs.

"Castle," she whispers hoarsely into the empty room, voice absorbed by the planks of old wood slatted across the floor. All she can hear is the rush of blood in her own head, but the thought of him nearby and _alone_ makes her feel sicker than any injury she's had the misfortune of sustaining. He doesn't answer though, leaving her to crane her neck around to take stock of the rest of the room, just in case he's unconscious behind her. There is only a bed though, stripped to the mattress and held together with an old wire frame, empty. Bile rises in her throat because _she doesn't know where he is_ and she's the cop and him following her around is not actually supposed to get him hurt, no matter how many times they seem to find themselves in these situations.

It doesn't even cross her mind that he might not be there with her until the doorknob on the other side of the room turns and _he_ comes in, Jerry Tyson, holding a folded newspaper and her cell phone. She feels her blood burn at the sight of him, the hot need to _arrest_ him shivering all up and down her back. A flash of Castle tied to a chair not unlike her comes to mind from a year earlier, the relief she felt at finding him alive prickling behind her apprehension at being unceremoniously dropped into the same situation with a somewhat less sure endgame.

Jerry Tyson doesn't _scare_ her, but she needs to know what's going on, where she is, why she's here, that Castle's okay. She paves her life in facts, and this is no different. Her hands may be tied but she's never been one to shy away from a challenge.

"Detective Beckett," he sing songs as he grabs another chair from the small table on the opposite wall, turning it so he can straddle the seat directly in front of her. It's such a play at a macho pose, she almost laughs. He must catch the twitch at the corner of her mouth because he immediately stiffens, just enough for her to catch, straightening his spine to raise him to his full height.

She's not gagged, which means he's holding her somewhere remote enough that no one will hear her scream, so she doesn't bother. Instead she narrows her eyes at him, exuding a calm she doesn't quite feel. "Where's Castle?" she asks, tipping a card she knows, but she has to be sure he's okay. The grin that spreads across his face at her question makes her think that maybe it was a mistake to ask outright.

Instead of answering her explicitly, he unfolds the paper in his hands, pulling it sharply until it's straightened out enough for her to read. The second she sees the picture, the one of them kissing on page six, the whole encounter in the alley with Castle comes back to her. "You mean where's your _boyfriend_, Kate?" he leers, tapping the picture suggestively. "Imagine my surprise when I saw this in the paper, I just _had_ to come back and congratulate the two of you." She shuffles uncomfortably, the photo of Castle in front of her making her mouth feel dry. She's never had more to lose in her life. "But you know," he continues, moving a finger to her chin to make sure she's looking at him instead of the newspaper. "I thought it would be more fun if we played a little game, like old times, see how smart your boy really is. See if he deserves you." He pushes back his chair, leaning into her just enough to place the newspaper open in her lap and step back with her cell phone to take a picture. He sends it to someone, Castle she assumes, and then shuts it off, removing the battery and sliding it into his pocket.

She bites her lip at the thought of his phone lighting up with a message from her, the way his breath would stop, those creases on his face when he's serious, worried. The picture of her tied to a chair and page six staring back at him.

She wants to tell him she's sorry.

.

Whatever game he's playing with Castle, she's not privy to it. Mostly she sits and watches him watch her, trying to decide how likely it is that he's going to try and kill her after all of this. She knows she's not his type, hair too dark, probably leaning on the edge of being too old for his tastes, but she knows this is not about her. Somehow she's become something to be leveraged against Castle, become that thing someone like Jerry can exploit to inflict maximum damage. Of all the times she's pushed him away to keep him safe, she somehow never considered the reverse. They'll never be untangled from each other.

.

He's in and out of the room a lot as it gets later. Her stomach growls, her arms ache, but she waits, watching, listening. He's yelling at someone in the hallway, seems annoyed enough for her to imagine it's Castle on the other line, exasperating even the coldest of serial killers. The thought makes her smile, makes her chest clench, her scar prickling with a ghost of a pain that used to be so present. It makes her think of him, want him, makes her want to hear the things he whispers in her ear at night when he smooths a thumb across it. Tyson comes flying into the room as her mind wanders, nearly popping the door off its hinges with how hard he opens it, and then he's standing in front of her clutching her phone and a length of green rope and she holds her breath as he neatly slips it around her neck.

His face is level with hers as he tugs on the rope a little bit, making it scratch against the delicate skin of her throat. He looks well, murderous. "I could kill you right now," he seethes coolly, voice even but deadly serious. "And it would be his fault. I guess he doesn't love you as much as I thought." He's tightening the rope mostly unconsciously in his fist, and something like panic starts to lick up her spine, so Beckett does the only thing she can think of and butts her head forward hard enough to knock him away from her. It's probably a mistake because she's pretty sure the crack of their skulls hurts her as much as it hurts him, but he's not strangling her anymore so her fuzzy brain marks a one in the win column. He's pissed though, rearing back at her with a backhand across her temple and then she's struggling not to slip away again. She feels him pulling her hair as her vision goes dark and spotty, and then his fingers tighten around her throat, cutting off her oxygen just enough to lurch her back into unconsciousness.

.

His voice pulls her back to reality.

Castle's voice.

He's calling her name, softly in her ear, urgently, the soft press of his hand right at her scar, checking on her, flitting across her wrists and then one long finger tripping up her neck, making her swallow. "Cas…" she starts to say, groggy, her throat tighter than it should be. _Sore_.

"She's okay!" she hears him shout to someone, there are a lot of feet moving around. He doesn't let go of her. When she opens her eyes he buries his head in her shoulder, breathing her in and her freed fingers clutch his shirt. "Are you okay?" he whispers to her privately.

"Yeah," she hoarses out. "Yes." The space he puts between them is only enough so that he can see her eyes and run a thumb across the purpling bruise on her forehead.

"He has a matching one," he grins at her, proud. "And kind of a black eye, I think you won that round."

"Great," she says, finally moving to stand up, rubbing her sore wrists. "How did you find me?"

He quirks an eyebrow at her like he's been rehearsing the story the entire time it took for him to get to her. "I'll tell you in the ambulance."

.

The purple finger shaped bruises on her neck, raised contusion on the back of her skull, and bump in the middle of her forehead are enough for Gates to insist she take some time off. A protest weighs heavy on her tongue as the words leave her Captain's mouth, but she stops herself, grinding her teeth against the so familiar argument.

It's been a grueling couple of months, a grueling _year_ really, and if she's learned anything from her therapy sessions at all it's that it's okay to give yourself a break when you need one. She thinks she needs one. She thinks she _wants_ one, which is an entirely new feeling for her because there's been nothing in her life since her mom died that has been as good or as fulfilling of a distraction as being a cop. She catches sight of Castle loitering at her desk as Gates stares her down, surely waiting to cut off her argument as to why she does _not_ need time off, but she decides to save her the trouble. "Yes sir," she says simply, and walks out into the bullpen without looking back, running her fingers lightly over the badge on her waist.

She catches his eye and stops right in front of him next to her desk. "Is she sending you home?" he asks, pretending to be affronted on her behalf even though she knows he'd rather her take some time to relax. She lets him do all the talking. "You know…" he starts, spinning his best charm into where he's going next. "The Hamptons are a great place to get away this time of year, maybe a little time off wouldn't be so bad."

She chews on her lip, pretending to consider.

"Swimsuits optional," he winks at her.

She rolls her eyes, but then holds his gaze warmly. This is an invitation two years coming. "You know what, Castle?" He leans forward subconsciously and she bites her lip trying not to smile too widely at the reaction she knows is coming. "That sounds like exactly what I need right now."

The grin he gives her makes her forget about the bumps and bruises she's sporting for long enough to let him lean in and steal a kiss from her, totally and completely against her rules of the precinct, but she's alive and they're about to go on _vacation _or something and nothing quite seems as dire as it did just a day before.

"Come on," she says, giving his chest a little shove and walking toward the elevator. "If you're good I'll let you help me pack."

He crowds her from behind as the elevator doors shut, hands skimming her sides. "Can I pick out your underwear?" he breathes into her ear and she shivers hotly at the implication. Her movements are thick as she reaches out to press the lobby button.

"Who said I was bringing any underwear?"


	3. three

**A/n: **I feel like I should apologize to anyone who thought this was going to be case-y/plotty fic and was disappointed by the lack of case solving details. Use your imaginations for how Castle found her and then dive into my gratuity mmhmm. Ty for your time.

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><p><strong>three<strong>

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><p>Castle's supposed to be writing, has got a deadline looming with the shadow of an overbearing publisher slash ex-wife slash ex-girlfriend hanging over him, but instead of tapping away he's staring out the office window of his Hamptons house, transfixed. He's got a perfect view of his private beach from where he's sitting, and Beckett is currently enjoying said beach in every possible way. She's a little bit far for him to see too many details, but his eyes follow the line of her body, laid out on her lounge chair, black bikini stark against her tanned skin. Her hair is down and draped half across her shoulders and half dangling down the back of her chair, lazily blowing in the breeze as she soaks up the sun, as she soaks up <em>his <em>sun and he wants nothing more than to chuck his laptop across the room and go join her.

His cursor blinks steadily as he stares at the sentence he stopped writing half way through ten minutes ago in favor of gazing at more interesting sights. The train of thought he'd been entertaining is long gone, replaced with sense memories of her skin and her _mouth_ and then he's clicking the lid of his laptop shut and taking the stairs two at a time until he's well on his way down the windy path to his beach, sand crunching beneath his bare feet.

He stops to watch her up close before she knows he's there, checking to make sure she's awake because she's lying so still. She reaches up to swipe at a stray strand of hair after a moment, very much awake, and he walks close until his shadow casts darkly across her face, her nose scrunching up in displeasure.

"_Castle_," she half whines, letting her oversized sunglasses tip down enough to make eye contact with him. Before she can finish, he steps closer, leaning over her to pluck the glasses from her face, smile into her eyes, and trail a finger down her nose. The look she gives him is half affection half annoyance (her very own special blend), and then he leans down to brush a kiss across the sun warmed skin of her neck. One of her hands threads through the hair at the back of his head, but she turns her face, protesting with a huff of air. "You're blocking my sun, you know."

He hums noncommittally against her pulse point, open mouthed kissing down the open expanse of her chest, brushing the underside of a breast with his knuckles. He hears her sigh, but she makes like she's pushing him away.

"I thought you were supposed to be writing?"

He sucks a trail back up her neck to her ear, biting gently and then pulling away to slide her sunglasses back onto her face and sit on the edge of her chair. "It's too hard to concentrate when you're sitting out here half naked like this." He knows he's pouting, but it's _true. _His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn't get this version of her out of his system.

She rolls her eyes at him and he recognizes the gesture by the movement of her head alone, eyes now hidden behind the trendy black plastic of her glasses.

"I need a hit of inspiration."

"Inspiration," she deadpans.

"_Inspiration_." His eyebrow rises and he can see the smile hiding behind the purse of her lips and he knows he almost has her. "From my _muse_. Strictly for business purposes of course, wouldn't want to disappoint my fans with mediocre writing, you know how it goes."

She gives him an _mmhmm_ and stretches both arms above her head in a move that is entirely too casual to be uncalculated. Kate Beckett uses her body like a weapon, even while on vacation. With the shift, her hair moves off her forehead, revealing the fading bruise from her encounter a week earlier with Jerry Tyson and Castle frowns a little bit at the sight of it, running his thumb over the only thing marring her perfect face.

Her forehead wrinkles when she realizes what he's doing.

"Hey, how're – " he starts, but then she's grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him straight to her mouth and swallowing the second half of his sentence whole.

When they first arrived in the Hamptons, he thought he was going to have to hide the car keys to keep her from going back after the first weekend, the first case that crossed her team's desk when she wasn't there, but it's strangely the opposite. He can hardly get her to _leave_, and every time he tries to bring up her ordeal with 3xk she cuts him off with her mouth or her hand or both or _neither_ and it's not yet gotten to the point where he's going to insist rather than give her her space. Especially when her space is in _his_ space and then her hand is toying with the waistband of his shorts and space is the last thing on his mind.

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><p>She lets him get her off against the lounge chair because his beach is <em>mostly<em> secluded and he leaves her bathing suit on, sliding his hand down the front of her bottoms, stroking up and down lewdly as she watches.

She likes to watch, and he's a performer by nature so it works for them, doing as much for him as it does for her. She groans into his touch as he works her, watching as his hips jut forward even though he's too far away to reach any part of her with his lower body, but just the suggestion is enough and then his thumb is pressing and he's pulling a kiss from her lips and she gives in on a moan and tries not to bow into his palm too obviously but probably fails.

They're good like this.

She wants them to _keep_ being good like this.

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><p>He doesn't try to ask about Tyson again until a few days later when she startles awake in his arms, the sun barely trickling through the big bay windows of his bedroom.<p>

"Hey," he whispers groggily in her ear, pulling her back against his chest until he feels her tense muscles start to loosen a little bit, waking from whatever she had been dreaming. "Bad dream?"

She grunts noncommittally, shifting against him until the fingers of his left hand brush her bare stomach, her shirt bunched up somewhere just beneath her breasts. She's warm to the touch, body still loose with sleep despite the abrupt way she woke.

"You know, if you want to talk about it…" he trails off, leaving her the option of having this conversation without having to look at him, but before he can press, he feels the fingers of her left hand curl around his and then she's shoving his hand down between her legs where she's even warmer than the rest of her.

He huffs a breath against the back of her neck, making her arch back into him a little bit as she puts pressure onto his fingers, leaving no question as to what she wants from him. Bossy as always. He trails figure eights lightly across the front of her underwear, teasing her as he scoots closer.

"We're going to talk about this eventually," he breathes into her ear as he switches up the pressure of his hand, suddenly pressing his palm fully against her. She gasps against it and he thinks he can hear her biting her own lip. "Distraction sex is only going to go so far."

She groans as he shoves her underwear to the side, taking her with two fingers as he talks to her.

Her voice is devastatingly throaty when she responds. "Seems to be working for me."

"You're just lucky I'm insatiable."

She laughs a little bit into her pillow as he drops a kiss in the crook of her shoulder and then he's nudging her with his hips and she slides a leg across the bed a little so she's straddling his hand and he stops talking so he can drink in the _noises_ she's making because she sure as hell is not afraid of being heard (at least in this respect).

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><p>Distracting him with sex is probably the best idea she's ever had, and it's all she can think about as she lays practically stomach down in his bed, hips jumping erratically. It's all friction now; his fingers aren't even inside of her anymore, just the hot, solid press of his palm against her clit, his hips encouraging hers against his hand and the mattress. She can feel how hard he is behind her, feel the long press of him against her backside but he doesn't move to make this about him. A loud groan comes bubbling up out of her throat as she tries to swallow it down, gasping and arching as she feels him tongue the back of her neck.<p>

Her fingers grip the edge of her pillow tightly as she rolls her hips against his palm, feeling vaguely like she should be embarrassed about how out of control she is, how much she does not remotely care that she's essentially rubbing herself off against his hand as an avoidance tactic. He feels good, _so_ good, and all she wants is to let him envelop her in this cocoon of lust and never think about work or murder again.

The hot slide of his tongue makes its way from the back of her neck to her ear, flicking against her ear lobe in that way she likes, making her angle her head to give him better access. He's practically growling against her as he ends up almost completely on top of her back, pressing her more firmly into the mattress. She feels surrounded, overwhelmed, _claimed_ by him and her eyes slam shut as he starts chanting her name into her ear. She can barely stand to hear his voice while he's doing this to her, the reality of it still fresh enough to send lightening zipping through her blood and straight between her legs, and then she's open mouthed gasping against her pillow, breaking apart with a mess of shuddering jerks. He doesn't let up until she completely stills, moving with the soft rolls of her hips as she comes down, kissing the back of her neck and her shoulder like he's kissing her mouth.

She goes boneless then, not even lifting her hips for him when he pulls his hand away, but he doesn't move away from her. Instead she feels him slide his hand along her backside, where his hips are still pressed, and then it's moving in a suspiciously rhythmic motion that makes her stomach clench all over again. Her head peeks up as she peers over her shoulder at him and he's staring at her with eyes so dark they could be twin thunderstorms, fist wrapped around his own cock. His hand his still slick with her.

She flips over then, drawn to the sight of him touching himself _for her_, because of her, and lets her leg drape over his hip to cradle his movements with her body. She doesn't touch him, just watches as he looks her over, still wearing one of his tshirts and a pair of thoroughly jostled underwear, and leans in to tug a kiss from his lips. He kisses her back, following her mouth as his hand moves, tongue sliding wetly against hers, fast and a little bit desperate. Her blood pounds in her ears as her hips unconsciously cant forward, catching the feel of his knuckles along her lower abdomen. She pulls back from him then, just far enough so she can watch him again, watches his eyes rove their way over her face and then downward, drinking her in.

"Do you want me to pull my shirt up?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper and she sees him start at the sound of it, thoroughly enveloped in a haze of lust. Her finger runs up and down his moving bicep as his eyes trail their way back to hers and then he's nodding, croaking out a _yeah_ that makes her want to swat his hand away and straddle him but she's caught up in the voyeuristic haze of the moment and instead moves her hand to the hem of her shirt, dragging it slowly up and along the flat expanse of her stomach and over the undersides of her breasts until his hand starts moving faster and she can no longer breathe because he's so completely bare and open before her and if her breath weren't choking her she thinks she'd confess every single thing she's never told him on the spot.

_They're so good here, she doesn't want to ruin it._


	4. four

Castle figures out that Beckett's hesitation to go back into the city has absolutely _nothing_ to do with Jerry Tyson or her kidnapping approximately four weeks after they arrive in the Hamptons. He walks in on her watching some true crime show about a serial killer one evening, one who kidnapped several women and strangled them to death, and she's barely paying attention, playing a rousing game of angry birds on his iPad instead. He tosses the bag of groceries he was hauling onto the counter and comes up behind the couch, walking loudly as not to startle her.

"Oh my god Castle, come here," she says as she hears him approach, setting down the iPad mid bird fling, and points to the tv. "Look at the actor they got to play this serial killer, doesn't he look like Esposito except with _really_ bad seventy's hair?" Her eyes are wide and amused, no lingering darkness hiding along the gold flecks of her irises.

Castle studies her curiously for a moment, a few things clicking into place (or some lingering doubts clicking _out_ of place), and then he grins at her, cocking his head at the frozen image on the screen. He really, _really_ does look like disco era Esposito. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the screen, pulling up a text message to said detective as Beckett looks on.

"If you're texting it to him, I already did. And to Ryan, and Lanie, and absolutely everyone else I could think of." She's grinning mischievously and he kind of wants to kiss her because she looks so _happy_ so he leans over the back of the couch and does just that, capturing her lips in a kiss that's quick and claiming all at the same time. It's like he's trying to swallow her lightness into himself so he can keep it forever.

"I'm still going to send it to him anyway, but nice work, detective," he breathes against her lips and then straightens to finish sending his message. She picks his iPad up again, resuming her game as he rolls childishly over the back of the couch to sit beside her.

"Heeey," she shoves him with her elbow. "You made me miss and that was my last bird." He shrugs unapologetically, plucking the game out of her hands and setting it down on the coffee table.

"Missing work?" he asks, and then gestures to the tv when she gives him a confused eyebrow raise.

"Oh. No, just…nothing else on." She flips off the tv and crawls into his lap, the loose material of her shirt draping over him as her legging clad thighs press against his. He gives her his best unconvinced look, watches her squint at him, and then she's scratching her nails lightly at the nape of his neck and then into his hair, making him sigh.

His palms slide warmly up her legs as she straddles him and he can feel her struggling not roll her hips, interesting since her favorite form of distraction since they'd arrived had been using her body at every opportunity. Not that he was complaining, but he felt that this was maybe an invitation to _push_. Figuratively.

"Ryan, Esposito and Lanie said they'd be here for the fourth of July party," he whispers into her ear as he drops a string of kisses along her cheekbone, making her grip the hairs at the back of his neck. He loves having this effect on her, that _tensing_ she does when his voice hits her just right.

"Good," she says distractedly as his mouth makes its way down her neck, tongue joining his lips at her skin. He can feel her swallow around the word. The loose fabric of her shirt makes it easy for him to slide one of his hands up her hip and along her spine, making her arch as the pads of his fingers skate over bare skin.

"It'll be good to see them." He bites down a little bit on the underside of her jaw, soothing it away with a flick of his tongue. "They miss you."

It had been Castle's idea to throw a fourth of July bash and invite them all, hoping to coax Beckett out of the bubble she's been living in for the past month. It's so unlike her, to run away from her job this way, and he knows she's avoiding something specific.

Her hips shift into him then, finally, and he knows this is his moment. "I thought maybe we'd drive back into the city this weekend after the party." He holds his breath as he feels her freeze in his arms.

His lips can feel her thick swallow as she opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and then finally lets her tongue push the words out. "What if…what if I'm not ready to go back?" Her voice is soft, small, like she's treading lightly, but with all the delicacy comes a thread of sureness. She's definitely had this conversation in her own head a hundred times since they'd arrived.

His arms wrap around her back, an embrace he hopes comforts her instead of crowding her with intimacy. "Tell me why," he says simply, his question plain. She knows what he's asking.

She sits back on his lap then, to look at him, his arms loosening behind her but not letting her go. "We're good here," she shrugs at him, holding eye contact for only a moment before skirting away, staring at an imaginary string on the shoulder of his shirt that she absently starts picking at. He cups her cheeks, directing her eyes back to his with a gentle kind of force. Resisting only for a moment, Beckett's eyes eventually find their way back to his, looking a bit naked. Nervous perhaps.

Does she think that they _wouldn't_ be good back at home? He's about to ask, to _oh Beckett_ her, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket, jostling both her and their moment and before he can even fish it out of his pocket to press ignore she's up and out of his lap and shoving her hands into the grocery bags for something to do. He sighs but doesn't follow her, thumbing the answer button on the screen of his phone. It's Esposito bitching about the picture that has now circulated around the entire precinct and made its way onto several desks and murder boards and asking what kind of alcohol he should bring to the party.

Castle wants to tell him _all of it_.

* * *

><p>By the time the party starts, more or less around seven o'clock, Beckett is well and truly vibrating, wrapped up in a blue and white dress that is entirely too low cut, a fantastic distraction for anyone circling too close. Castle's eyes are undressing her from across the room as she nurses a beer, half listening to one of his neighbors talk about her new shrubbery, thinking about how she's going to be able to sidestep Castle's persistent urging to go back into the city when her wayward team shows up to back him up. He must know that she smells his plan from a mile away, a seasoned detective like her, but it doesn't mean that she can do anything to stop it really. He's going to push until she spills her guts and the thought makes her slightly nauseous. She likes her guts where they <em>are<em>.

The three of them arrive in a flurry of impressed looks and patriotically colored clothing about thirty minutes into the party. They look at her with such affection that a wave of something passes through her, something like guilt and _home_ and when they all three envelop her in a hug at the same time, she squeezes back without an ounce of obligation. She missed them.

_Damn you, Castle._ He always knows just the right buttons to press.

They chat her ear off about a weird new case they're working, something she would have called Castle about immediately if they had been home, and it makes her skin prickle. Of course this is the moment that Castle materializes at her side, sliding a hot palm across her back and leaning over to drop a kiss on Lanie's cheek.

"Looking stunning as always, Doctor Parrish," he charms, eyes sparkling. He's completely in his element. He nods at the boys with an impressed upturn of his lips and Beckett almost laughs at how much their chests puff out at his unspoken approval. Ryan and Esposito talk Castle's ear off about his house as Lanie _very _obviously notices the hand Castle's still got splayed across the small of her back and then they're all getting drinks and enjoying the party.

It takes about an hour for her to politely excuse herself upstairs under the guise of needing to splash some water on her face after the tenth or twentieth thinly veiled attempt at getting her to agree to come back to the city this weekend. She needs to talk to Castle, she needs to stay here, she needs to stop worrying, she needs to not be _herself_ right now but none of those things is attainable so she escapes into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed face first. She just lies there, breathing and not moving until she hears a soft knock on the molding of the door she left open.

"Can I come in?" he asks, waiting for her permission.

"It's your bedroom."

His footsteps are quiet as he walks his way to her, and then she feels the tip of one of his fingers trail up her calf and behind her knee, making her groan softly into his comforter.

"Ours," he says simply.

She presses her face into the bed so she doesn't have to look at him, words mumbled as they float to his ears. "For now."

"_Beckett_." He sounds exasperated, she would be too if she were him.

She rolls over then, dislodging his wandering finger and sits up, pushing herself off the bed and onto the floor, toe to toe with him.

"Why would you even say that?"

"Because if we go back, _I'm going to mess it up_," she finally hisses into his face and then brushes past him to stomp out of the room but he catches her upper arm before she can and crowds her against the wall with the rest of his body.

"_Stop_. We are going to talk about this, like _adults_."

Beckett's eyes narrow at him dangerously, a caged animal backed against a wall, but she wants this, wants to fight with him, wants to yell at him, wants these doubts digging into her ribcage _out_.

"What is there to talk about Castle? When we go back, back to the city, back to the Twelfth, everything's going to be…how it was." He looks at her like she's crazy which just makes her even more frustrated. None of the things she's saying make sense when she says them to his face, but they still _feel _true. "What if I don't know how to do this for real?" she finishes on an exhale. His eyes widen at that, heart on his sleeve and her chest feels hot for how much she wants to hear the reassurances she knows are waiting on his tongue.

He moves in closer to her, more gently now, less aggression, but she still feels a little bit trapped against the wall, possessed by him. He's got all the control in this conversation, but she needs to hear what he has to say, needs to not run away, so she fists her hands in the bottom of his absurd American flag shirt and lets him press them chest to chest against the wall.

"Nothing has to change when we go back," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Castle I'm a _cop_, I can't sit around on the beach with you all day every day, or stay in bed until noon, or walk around naked because you ripped my last pair of underwear and neither of us can leave the house for long enough to go shopping."

"You can always walk around with no underwear on, I promise I wont tell anybody."

She thunks her head against his shoulder with a groan. "Castle, I'm serious."

He raises her head with his hands, pressing it back against the wall. "So am I," he says with sparkling eyes, but then gets serious again, staring at her. "And that's not what I meant. Beckett, nothing has to change when we go back. You're still you, super cop and all around badass and I'm still me, your faithful and roguishly handsome shadow. I'll still bring you coffee in the morning and you'll still roll your eyes at my crazy _yet brilliant_ theories and the only thing that will change is that maybe I'll kiss you in the elevator or I'll go home with you or you'll come home with _me_. That's why…" he falters a little bit, and she can see the love he carries for her in his eyes as he tries to pick just the right words for how much he believes in them. "That's why we work, that's why we're _us_, Beckett. Nothing has to change because we've already been doing this for _years_."

She can see him holding his breath for her reaction, and as his words hit her ears and sink in, she knows them to be true. "I…" she wants to tell him _I love you_, wants him to know how much she wants to do this right, but the words stick against the base of her throat so instead she lurches forward, capturing his lips and breathing her relief into his mouth. He's rigid for a moment, feeling out her response, she knows, trying to tell if this is a distraction kiss or her giving in, so she gasps _okay_ around his tongue, says it over and over against him until he's scooping his arms around her sides and lifting her up to press her against the wall. She opens her mouth wider as her back connects solidly, he's not being gentle, and then he's open mouthed dragging his teeth and tongue across the column of her throat until her hips start moving against him and her body starts to _burn_.

He's everywhere at once as she rocks blindly, feeling his body react to hers viscerally, eyes squeezing shut against the sensation. His mouth is at her ear, whispering to her as she moves, asking her something but she can't make herself focus for long enough to absorb the meaning behind his words. He bites down on her earlobe and the sharp jolt is enough to clear her head for a moment, his words coming through the haze of lust like a lightning bolt to her already fried body. _Always always always_ he's chanting, and she grips him by the ear as her spine bows in an effort to get her hips closer to him. Just as she thinks she's going to break apart from his voice alone, he suddenly lets her go and gravity is pulling her toward the ground with a kind of force she cannot compete with on jelly legs. She gasps his name but then he's catching her, holding her up and then he's sinking to the floor in front of her, on his knees and _oh god_ she can't stand the sight of him like this, hair wild and eyes wilder and only for her and so she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes as she feels him drape one of her legs over his shoulder and start nipping his way up her inner thigh.

She bites her own fist as he mouths her over her underwear, knowing how much it drives her _crazy_ to be teased like that, his tongue there but not _quite_. Her other hand winds its way through his hair and then rests against his jaw lightly as she feels it moving, feels him writing novels into her flesh as he finally shoves aside the scrap of fabric and _touches_ her. Her breath is coming in gasping sobs as his lips wrap around her and then his fingers ply her apart and she almost blacks out, she's so, so close. She starts sliding down the wall then, she can feel herself losing ground but cannot possibly force the neurons in her brain to fire and control any part of herself that isn't surrounded by his _tongue_, and she feels him trying to hold her up with one arm, his fingers digging into her hip so hard she's sure there'll be finger shaped bruises in the morning, but she's still sliding and then scrambling as he _stops_, grabbing the other hip and pressing it against the wall before she can collapse. She wants to scream because she _wasn't done_ but then she looks at his face and almost finishes without any extra help at all.

The moisture on his face from her is bordering on obscene and she groans at the sight, letting her head loll against the wall behind her. "Oh god am I really that wet?" she croaks and then it's his turn to groan because he's never going to be able to hear her say the word wet again and not get hard. Instead of answering he grabs her wrist, linking their fingers together and then slides them between her legs, letting her feel exactly how wet for him she is. She would blush if she weren't already pink from head to toe from exertion.

She pulls him up then, using the hand not tangled with his between her own legs to yank his face to hers and then they're kissing and she can taste herself on his tongue and on his teeth, and he unbuttons his own pants as she almost climbs him, letting him press her against the wall until he's pressing into _her_ and she has to bite down on his shoulder to keep from letting everyone downstairs know _exactly_ what they're doing.

It's embarrassingly fast for both of them, barely a minute before her belly is on fire and she's gasping and breathing _yes yes yes _into the space between them and he's swallowing it from her mouth because he _knows_, knows this is a yes for him and a yes for them and a _yes_ to going home because he was _right_ and this has been going on for so much longer than she has ever admitted to even herself.

_Yes_.


End file.
